


holding on tight to the love we've found

by ednae



Category: IDOLiSH7 (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 15:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16894956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ednae/pseuds/ednae
Summary: They're all a little worse for wear, but it's okay when they're together.





	holding on tight to the love we've found

**Author's Note:**

> trying something a little different with the ship tags... i hope it doesn't bother anyone!! ;;
> 
> anyway im back again with more matsuri! i can and will fill this tag with as much content as my puny brain can possibly manage all right all right all right all right
> 
> this is like... an au setting where none of them are idols. i realized as i was typing the last word that gaku would more likely be a goddamn soba shop worker than a salaryman but like ???? leave me alone??? i'm WAY too lazy to go back and change what's pretty much half of the foundation of my fic so just. suspension of disbelief, im begging you

Yamato lifts his chin and smells the air, taking in the savory scent of whatever Mitsuki is cooking for dinner. “Smells good,” he says, leaning against the kitchen wall as he watches him stir the pot. He drops his suitcase to the floor, forgetting all about his day at work in favor for being grateful for the home he gets to come home to every night.

“You could offer to help out instead of just standing there, you know,” Mitsuki grumbles, only sparing a cursory glance over his shoulder in greeting. His hair is clipped back and he’s in that frilly blue apron Nagi got him as a gag gift for his birthday, and he looks absolutely adorable with his face red from the heat.

“But then I couldn’t watch you work.” He grins and stalks across the kitchen, stopping right behind Mitsuki and wrapping his arms around his waist. He rests his head on top of Mitsuki’s and hums as he peers down into the pot. “What is it, curry?”

“Chili,” Mitsuki answers. Yamato raises his eyebrow. Without looking up from his pot, Mitsuki elaborates, somehow knowing exactly what he’s thinking. “Nagi wanted it for dinner.”

“Why chili…?” Yamato muses, playing with the hem of Mitsuki’s apron with one hand and settling the other around Mitsuki’s, feeling the motions as they stir the chili together.

“Beats me, but it’s not like it’s hard to make.” He shrugs. “Nagi’s in the living room watching anime. Did you see him when you came in?”

Yamato nods and takes the opportunity to press his lips into the back of Mitsuki’s head, breathing deeply as he settles into the position. Hair tickles his nose, and the scent of floral shampoo is still present even after a long day working at the bakery. Mitsuki, in his entirety, is warm and welcoming, and it takes every ounce of willpower to pull away from him long enough to speak. “Why isn’t he helping? Doesn’t he usually like fucking around with us and making everything a mess?”

“Oh, believe me, he tried.” Mitsuki points at the sink, and Yamato notices for the first time a pile of dirty dishes caked in brown and red goop. The area around the sink looks almost like the scene of a murder with reddish-brown streaks of a viscous substance covering every square inch, including the floor. It looks like they made some attempt to clean it up, at least, but that just makes Yamato wonder how bad it was before. “That was our first attempt.”

“Gay baby jail?” Yamato guesses.

“Gay baby jail,” Mitsuki affirms.

Yamato sighs. “He has no idea what he’s doing in the kitchen.”

“Neither do you.”

“Yeah, but I don’t even try,” Yamato points out. “And at least I acknowledge that I suck at this.”

He lets his hand slide up Mitsuki’s arm, trailing his fingers in simple, light patterns along his skin as he goes. He feels a shiver under him, and he notices with a tiny glint in his eye that Mitsuki has stopped stirring, his entire body relaxed as he leans into Yamato’s touch.

“You’re not helping,” Mitsuki whispers, and it comes out throaty and breathless.

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Yamato whispers back, leaning down so that he’s speaking directly into his ear.

“We can’t eat if I don’t finish cooking,” Mitsuki says, and Yamato halts in his path without hesitating in the slightest.

“Please, by all means, continue.” He steps away from Mitsuki and waves his hand in a flourish toward the stove.

Mitsuki rolls his eyes and swats at Yamato’s shoulder playfully. “You’re such a mooch.”

“And yet, you haven’t gotten rid of me yet.”

Mitsuki’s face scrunches up and he taps his chin thoughtfully. “You’re right—I wonder why that is…”

“Wait, Mitsu, no,” Yamato says, slumping over and holding out his hands in a plea for him to reconsider. “I’ll do more housework.”

“You will not.”

Yamato pauses. “Well. You’re not wrong, but—”

“I’m just kidding,” Mitsuki interrupts, poking out his tongue. “You’re too sensitive.”

Yamato nods enthusiastically, his glasses bouncing a little on the bridge of his nose. “It’s because you guys make me so weak, after all.”

Mitsuki’s face blooms a bright red, and he turns back to his chili in an attempt to hide it. “Shut up, you sappy old man.”

“Can I come out of gay baby jail now?” Nagi whines, and both of their heads turn in tandem to find Nagi peeking out from behind the wall, bottom lip sticking out in a pout and the biggest puppy dog eyes he can possibly muster blinking pitifully at them.

“Are you going to make my chili explode again?” Mitsuki levels, arching his eyebrow in a such way that it somehow conveys his unspoken threat.

“...No…” Nagi mutters, directing his gaze to the floor. “I finished the season, and the next one doesn’t come out until November, so…”

Yamato turns to Mitsuki and bats his eyelashes in his own rendition of puppy dog eyes. “How can you say no to that face, Mitsu?”

“I can’t, that’s the problem,” he huffs, blowing a stray hair out of his eye. “Come on, then. But _don’t_ touch the food.”

“I swear on my face that I will stay away from the stove this time,” Nagi vows, holding up his hand as a pledge.

“Your face?”

“Yes! Because it is my greatest asset,” he confirms with a nod.

“You can be the entertainment,” Yamato suggests, looking his boyfriend up and down with greedy eyes. “Onii-san’s all worn out after work.”

“Are you still calling yourself that?” Mitsuki gripes as he turns back to the stove. “You’re _barely_ the oldest one here. And besides, I don’t want to date my brother.”

“Iori doesn’t want to date you, either,” Nagi says, finally entering the kitchen now that he has permission and leaning onto the only spot on the counter that isn’t covered in burnt chili.

“Not what I meant, Nagi.”

“Come on,” Yamato urges, crossing their tiny kitchen in a couple paces and grabbing Nagi’s hands, tugging him back out of the room so they have more space. “Show off that performing arts minor!”

The space they’ve designated as the “dining room” is more so an empty area with a few boxes stacked against the wall, still unopened even nine months after they moved into the apartment. They’ll get to it eventually, they keep telling themselves, but it’s still nice to have this open area for now.

It’s also convenient, since Mitsuki has a perfect view to see Yamato and Nagi make complete fools of themselves. Mitsuki’s smiling face is a sight Yamato can never get tired of, and he’d do anything to keep it there—even at his own expense.

And so he plants himself in the middle of the room and pulls Nagi toward him, lifting his arm so that he twirls under it. He stops and leans back, expecting Yamato to hold his weight in a dip. Not that he should expect any different, since Nagi is all about throwing himself on top of him at any given moment.

“Should we sing?” Nagi asks, smiling brightly up at him. His hair has come undone and hangs loose around his face, his bangs tickling the bridge of his nose and covering his eyes. He’s beautiful, Yamato thinks not for the first time and _certainly_ not for the last. His chest tightens.

“I don’t know any songs,” Yamato replies, his voice a little raspy as he struggles to breathe.

He thinks his heart will burst out of his chest if he keeps looking at Nagi in this position, so he quickly lifts him back up and flings him outward, holding onto him just by the tips of his fingers.

“Then I will sing on my own,” Nagi declares, and bursts into song.

It’s not something he recognizes; if he had to guess, he’d say it’s from an anime that Nagi hasn’t managed to force him to watch yet, but he can’t be sure. Half the lyrics are butchered and he’s intentionally singing off pitch, off beat, and with a wildly exaggerated accent, but Yamato can confidently say that this, whatever it is, is his favorite song.

“You guys are dorks,” Mitsuki calls from the kitchen. Yamato manages to tear his eyes away from Nagi long enough to see Mitsuki leaning against the counter, watching them while the chili bubbles next to him.

“We’re _your_ dorks,” Yamato amends with a toothy grin. Mitsuki just rolls his eyes.

The front door rattles open, and Yamato is too focused on that to realize that Nagi is spinning back into him. They collide with two low groans harmonizing in sync, but Yamato manages to keep them both steady and on their feet. He has lots of practice.

“I’m home!” Gaku calls from the front of the apartment. Nagi pulls Yamato forward, wrapping one arm around Yamato’s waist and placing a hand on his shoulder. He swings him around in a wide arc, taking the lead in their impromptu ballroom dance, and from this angle, Yamato is able to see the front door.

Gaku is, in fact, home, tugging off his shoes in the entryway. He hasn’t looked up yet, still juggling his shoes and his briefcase and that damn tie that always gets in his way which he insists on wearing even though Yamato has told him it’s more hassle than it’s worth.

“Welcome back,” Nagi and Yamato say in tandem, still spinning. Gaku jerks in surprise, then lifts his head up to meet them. There’s already a tiny smile quirking his lips upward, even if the bags under his eyes are prominent and he looks ready to pass out.

“Welcome home!” Mitsuki calls from the kitchen.

Gaku steps out into the main room, wide open and vulnerable, and yet he has the audacity to act shocked when Nagi pulls Yamato over and they bombard him, taking his hands in theirs and spinning him into their chests. “Whoa, what—!”

Nagi kisses him first, then lets Yamato have his way with him. The welcome-home kiss he gives is simultaneously tender and needy. “We missed you,” he says softly into Gaku’s ear, which sends a tremble down his spine, a mimic of Mitsuki’s shiver from only a little bit ago.

“I—I missed you, too…” Gaku says, clearing his throat as he struggles to find composure while two of his boyfriends are manhandling him.

“We’re performing for Mitsuki!” Nagi announces, twirling Gaku around once.

The motion throws him completely off balance, and his feet catch on each other in frustrating irony as he tries to find his footing. He falls backwards with a shout and straight into Yamato’s waiting arms. “Going somewhere?” he coos, adjusting his grip on Gaku before they both go down.

Gaku blinks up at him, his hair mussed and falling in his wide, innocent eyes, his jaw slack as he stares, his cheeks ever so slightly flushed, and he looks so beautiful in this moment that Yamato’s heart stops. “Not anymore.”

Yamato clears his throat and looks away, pushing Gaku back up before his already shaking knees give way or his arms turn into jelly.

“Welcome home, Gaku!” Nagi pulls Gaku into a big bear hug, reaching his arms far enough around him that he’s able to latch onto Yamato, too, and drag him into it, creating a Gaku Sandwich.

Gaku tilts his head to the side and leans into Nagi, peppering kisses down his neck. Nagi giggles in response, letting go of Yamato in the process as he moves his hands to shove against Gaku’s chest.

“Stop, _stop!”_ he says in English, the syllables fighting through the gaps in his hiccups. “It tickles!”

Yamato gets a rotten idea. A very no good, dirty, downright horrible idea. Naturally, he decides to act on it. And so he leans forward, pressing himself into Gaku and reaching around him with clawed fingers. He digs them into Nagi’s side and laughs when he absolutely _howls._

“A tickle fight?” Mitsuki asks, and suddenly he’s right there next to them. “You guys have all the fun and leave me to do all the work.”

“You don’t have to work so hard for us,” Gaku reassures him, his voice muffled with his face still pressed into Nagi’s shoulder, unable to break free as Yamato holds him tight while still tickling Nagi.

“Yeah, Mitsu, join in,” Yamato purrs, raising his voice to be heard over Nagi’s shrieking laughter.

 _“No, no!”_ Nagi screams, jerking away from them all with as much force as he can muster. “Not Mitsuki, he’ll—!”

With a final tug, Nagi sends all of them flying to the floor, crashing together in a heap of limbs. Only Mitsuki remains standing over them, looking down on them with a curious expression.

Yamato stares up at him, completely entranced by the way the kitchen light seems to make his hair glow like a halo around him. “Well?”

“Well what?” Mitsuki responds, bending down just a little, as if asserting his dominance over them.

“Aren’t you going to join us?” Yamato finishes, gesturing with the hand that _isn’t_ being crushed by Gaku’s ass to the pile.

“What about dinner?” Mitsuki replies, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

“I’m not that hungry.”

Mitsuki mutters something that sounds like “bullshit,” but he doesn’t openly protest. Instead, he lets his legs give out and he falls on top of them, splaying his limbs out across the three of them like they’re his bed. “It’s gonna get cold, you know.”

Gaku grunts under the added weight, and he wiggles around, trying to find a decent position where he’s not being crushed in the inescapable prison that is his boyfriends.

“Oh, Mitsuki! Have you finished cooking?” Nagi asks a little breathlessly, probably because Yamato’s elbow is lodged firmly in his stomach.

Mitsuki snorts. “Yeah, no thanks to you.” He ignores Nagi’s insincere whimper and finally climbs off of their pile, releasing Gaku from his cage. He celebrates by sucking in a large mouthful of air, shooting straight up into a sitting position.

Yamato feels cold without Gaku pressing into his side, and he has half a mind to drag him back down again, no matter how uncomfortable and painful the pile had been. He doesn’t, though, and instead he follows Gaku upward, holding out a hand to help Nagi up, too.

Gaku breathes in deeply through his nose, closing his eyes as he takes in Mitsuki’s cooking. “What’s for dinner?”

“Chili,” Yamato replies, nodding once in solidarity when Gaku’s eyebrows knit together and his face scrunches up. “You should see Nagi’s attempt at helping.”

“Do I want to?”

“Probably not, since we’re the ones who have to clean it up later.”

They both turn toward Nagi, who’s smiling obliviously. He looks between them, his smile tightening until it drops altogether and he hangs his head sadly. “Oh… I was only doing my best.”

“Gay baby jail?” Gaku guesses.

“Gay baby jail,” Yamato nods.

Nagi lowers his head, a shadow coming over his eyes as he remembers his time in exile. “It was a dark time. With no new anime to speak of, I was forced to watch reruns until I was released from my chains.”

“You say that like I was holding you captive or something,” Mitsuki laughs.

But Nagi only nods seriously, placing a hand on both Yamato’s and Gaku’s shoulder. “Do not anger Mitsuki, or there will be hell to pay.”

Gaku swallows. “I already know that much.”

Even now, Yamato has memories flickering before his eyes of all the times Mitsuki has made Yamato suffer (deservingly so) in retribution for his actions. He shudders, not bothering to hide his grimace.

“I’ll put you both in gay baby jail next,” Mitsuki warns, crossing his arms over his chest.

Yamato holds his hand up, dismissing the threat. “Pass. Anyway, let’s eat! I’m starving!”

“Make up your mind!” Mitsuki shouts, elbowing him in the side. It’s not hard and it doesn’t hurt, but Yamato grunts out a little _“oof!”_ in response, earning him a roll of Mitsuki’s eyes.

“Mitsu’s bullying me,” Yamato whines, leaning into him and throwing his arms around him before dropping his weight. Mitsuki scrambles to stay upright, growling as he holds onto Yamato to keep them both from falling back to the floor.

“Didn’t you deserve it?” Gaku asks, his mouth twisting into a funny little smile.

“He did,” Nagi confirms with a nod.

“He definitely did!” Mitsuki adds, tugging on Yamato’s arms to make him let go. It doesn’t work, and so Mitsuki huffs loudly and trudges back to the kitchen, pulling Yamato along behind him.

Yamato sniffs and buries his head into Mitsuki’s shoulder. “No one loves me.”

He feels three hands pat him affectionately, and he lifts his head up just enough to find Mitsuki grinning at him over his shoulder.

“That’s not true,” Nagi says as he plays with the ends of Yamato’s hair.

“Yeah, don’t you have that one cleaning robot?” Gaku asks, his face serious even if his eyes are alight with humor. It’s the final blow to Yamato’s confidence, and he drops his head back into the crook of Mitsuki’s neck with a loud groan.

“Get off of me,” Mitsuki complains, jerking his shoulder around in an attempt to fling him off. “You’re gonna throw out your back.”

“I’m not _that_ old,” Yamato protests, still hanging on for dear life.

“I will put you in the damn hospital myself, then,” Mitsuki threatens.

“Ooh, Mitsu’s scary,” he sing-songs, pressing his lips into Mitsuki’s neck over and over until he feels him relax under Yamato’s kiss.

“C–cut it out, old man, I’m trying to be mad at you,” Mitsuki nearly whimpers, squirming a little in Yamato’s arms.

“Oh, Mitsuki, you know that never works out,” Nagi says, leaning in and planting a kiss on his cheek as well. He pulls Gaku along with him and then it’s Mitsuki’s turn to be showered in adoration while he helplessly flails under the mass of bodies.

And all the while, the chili Mitsuki slaved over is getting cold, but no one seems to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> i cry about matsuri on my twitter [@polythagoras](http://twitter.com/polythagoras)


End file.
